


And Fernando Makes Three

by geezers



Series: And Baby Makes Three [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 07:05:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1595984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geezers/pseuds/geezers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the future after 'And Baby Makes Three', Isabel is now 18. </p><p>Fernando and Juan lost contact after their careers took different paths. It's been well over a decade since they last spoke to one another. Isabel followed in her dad's footsteps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Fernando Makes Three

** Aquí Sin Ti  **

As she ran down the field the wind blew through her hair, lifting it up off her shoulders, making it cascade behind her; with the ball at her feet she couldn’t care less about anything else. She moved to dribble left, but then quickly dropped her shoulder and sprinted to the right. With one touch to get the ball out of her feet, she swung her left leg back and connected with the ball, sending it sailing into the top right corner of the goal, the ‘keeper getting nowhere near it. She fell to her knees, celebrating with the imaginary crowd of thousands.

Two boys stood off to the side of the patch of grass and gawked at Isabel. Only moments before they’d both been teasing her when she claimed that she could play football.

She kicked the ball back to them and with a flick of her hair; she left them standing in wonderment.

'You should come play with us again!' one of the boys shouted as Isabel took off.

'Nah, I don't think so!' Isabel called back over her shoulder, grinning as she went. It was already nearing 7pm, and Isabel's dad always liked her to be home for dinner.

When she entered the house, Isabel kicked off her trainers before going to find her dad who was cooking in the kitchen. Juan wasn’t ever going to be the best cook in the world, but it definitely wasn’t for lack of trying on his part. His meals were usually a little burnt around the edges, but Isabel love her dad’s cooking.

'Hi Papá, what are you cooking?' Isabel asked, hopping up to sit on the counter, even though she knew her dad hated it when she did that.

'Prawn linguini,' he said with a proud grin as he sliced a red chilli. 'It'll be ready in about 20 minutes so go and clean yourself up.' Isabel ran upstairs and once she’d changed out of her old Chelsea shirt and black adidas shorts, she jumped in the shower. Just as she stepped back into her room, Isabel heard her dad calling her down to dinner. Sticking her hand in her wardrobe, Isabel pulled out some tracksuit bottoms and a vest top.

Downstairs, her dad was sitting at the table with both plates set out, he waited for Isabel before he began.

'How was your run?' Juan asked Isabel as she dug enthusiastically into her dinner. 'It was great thanks. I saw these two boys who didn't believe I could play football after they saw my Chelsea shirt. So I did the Hocus Pocus and then I embarrassed both of them by scoring a curler from about 25 yards out. Their goalie was miles away.' Isabel said a proud grin stretching across her lips.

'You're a professional now, why do you always feel you need to prove yourself?' Juan questioned, twirling the pasta around his fork. Isabel placed her cutlery down.

'Because, Papá. I worked so hard to get where I am and I want to show people, any people, what I can do.' Isabel has just signed with Atlético Madrid Ladies' team after her 18th birthday and she still felt on the outskirts of the group. She rarely made it on to the pitch and when she did it was usually as a time wasting tactic when the team was winning. As soon as Isabel had found out the news, she immediately went to tell her dad. He was absolutely thrilled for her, they were one of the best women’s teams in the country – and they wanted his daughter. But Juan knew that she had so much more to offer than she was being allowed to show. Even so, he was there, in the stands, at every single one of her matches, cheering louder than anyone else whenever Isabel was on the pitch.

At her first match, the coach subbed her on in the 79th minute. Juan whooped and hollered with such volume and unbridled pride that he could see a faint blush staining Isabel’s cheeks as she played. Isabel was a right-sided winger or she could also play as a second striker, and she wore the number 11 shirt when she played at Atlético. She was blessed with the pace that had always evaded Juan, but Isabel had the eye for a defence splitting pass just like her Papá.

‘How was your day?” Isabel asked ungracefully slurping spaghetti into her mouth and wiping the sauce from her face with the napkin Juan had left on the table.

‘I got invited back to Chelsea for a 20 year reunion of our first Champions League win.’ Juan said with a nonchalance that did not match the excitement his statement warranted. ‘You’re invited too.’

‘That’s so awesome Papá! That means I’ll get to see Tío Nando again!’ Isabel smiled to herself at the thought of seeing Fernando. She hadn’t seen him for years, as Juan and Fernando lost contact after Juan left England.

‘Yeah, that would be great.’ Juan said, genuinely excited to see everyone, Fernando included. What they achieved that night in Munich was something that would be a bond between them forever.

After Juan left Chelsea for Manchester United, he stayed up north for three seasons, without winning a trophy before moving abroad to Germany. Bayern Munich had offered him a wonderful contract, and he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to play in such a fantastic league. His time in Munich was successful; they won the Bundesliga, the DFB-Pokal and a second Champions League. After three and a half seasons with Bayern, he finished his career at Real Oviedo, playing his last season as a professional with his hometown team.

The World Cup in Brazil wasn’t as successful for Spain as they would have hoped; they lost out in the semi-final to Brazil, who went on to win the competition, beating Germany in the final. And it was after that tournament when Juan lost contact with Fernando. Juan knew that Fernando saw out his whole contract with Chelsea, and then went back to Atlético for one last season – they welcomed him back like a God – and then he retired at 33. His knees finally forced him to stop playing professionally. But they lost contact after the World Cup because that was when Fernando decided to retire from International football. The older Spaniard knew that doing so could help to add more time on to his career, so they rarely managed to see each other. Though that never stopped Juan from wondering what could have been. He didn’t realise how long he’d been staring into space for until Isabel waved her hand mere centimetres from his face.

‘Papá! _Dios_ , I was calling you for ages.’

Looking down, Juan was twirling the same piece of linguini around his fork over and over again. ‘Sorry, I spaced out there for a second.’

‘Don’t worry.’ Isabel pressed a kiss to her dad’s forehead. ‘I’m going to wash up my plate and then I’m going to go and read. Thank you for dinner.’

Finally, Juan put his fork down; he wasn’t in the mood to finish his meal.

 

 

‘Papá, come on!’ Isabel said, kicking the ball over to her dad. They were in the garden playing one-on-one; something Isabel had always enjoying doing with her dad as she’d grown up. When she was younger, Isabel knew that Juan took it easy on her when they played, but as she’d gotten older, and honed her technical skills, Juan tried harder and their games now were a lot more demanding - but even more enjoyable. Isabel kept Juan sharp, despite having retired a long time before, Isabel made sure he never lost his touch.

‘ _Mein gott!_ ’ Isabel said as she took the ball right from her father’s feet, dribbling around him with ease. ‘And she rounds the old man, and Isabel Mata takes off towards goal. She fakes right, and then she goes left. The young star shoots, and she scores!’ Isabel commentated on her own movements, jumping around the garden celebrating her goal.

‘Messi? Ronaldo? Maradona? Pele? None of them hold a candle to Isabel Mata! The best footballer the world has ever seen!’ Juan began commentating on his daughter’s celebration. Isabel continued laughing and hoisting aloft an imaginary trophy, jumping around and cheering. She shouted words in the three languages she was fluent in, English, German and Spanish. She'd picked up German much quicker than Juan, and she also learned a lot of slang from her schoolmates, which often meant Juan didn't even know what she was saying!

 

 

‘Do you have your passport and your ticket?’ Isabel asked, handing her dad his suit while he picked up his suitcase. Juan was getting ready to fly to London for the 20 year Munich Champions League Final anniversary. As far as he knew everyone was going - even Robbie Di Matteo had said that he was going to be attending the event. Which was a surprise to everyone, but less so when you knew how much Chelsea and that night meant to the Italian. Isabel was unable to go to London with her dad because Atlético had a match the following evening against Valencia. And Isabel was in the squad.

‘If you need me, call me straight away. And you know Emma and Rodrigo’s number, don’t you?’ Isabel nodded, trying to get her dad out of the door. If she didn’t Isabel knew he’d stand there all day giving her safety instructions.

‘Yes, Papá - Emma and Rodrigo live 5 minutes away; if I need them for anything I’ll call or go over there. Now get out, you have a plane to catch!’ Isabel pushed him out the door and to the taxi that was waiting by the curb.

As soon as Juan left, Isabel dropped on to the sofa, turned on the TV and began flicking through the copious amounts of channels that they received, she replied to a couple of texts, one was from her friend Maria Bolívar who she played for Atleti with, and the other was from Diego who played for the men’s team . It had been no time at all when Isabel’s phone began ringing, she answered and immediately a wry smile appeared on her face.

‘Hello Emma, how are you?’

‘I’m fine thanks Bel, but your dad asked me to call and check up on you.’ Isabel’s former nanny stifled a giggle. When Juan retired and moved back to Madrid when Isabel was 9, Emma moved with them. But after a few months, she met Rodrigo, a teacher, at a coffee shop and they hit it off, marrying after knowing each other for only 6 months. Once they got married, Emma fell pregnant within no time and couldn’t continue being Isabel’s nanny.

‘I’m doing well thanks, very much still alive, after a grand total of,’ Isabel checked the time on her watch. ‘20 minutes since Papá left. Am I going to be seeing you and the kids this week?’

Isabel often babysat for Emma’s kids Gabriel and Javier, and she loved the two boys like they were her own siblings.

‘I don’t think so, Rodrigo has managed to get a few days off and he’s taking the kids up to Vigo to see his parents for the weekend. I wasn’t able to get the time off though, so I’m sticking around here. And I need to be here in case anything happens to you!’ Emma laughed and the fondness in her chuckle was apparent.

‘I’m sure I’ll be fine,’ Isabel commented, and even though Emma knew the teenager was more than capable of looking after herself and that she hadn’t been Isabel’s nanny for nearly a decade, Emma still felt the need to care for her.

 

 

Juan gratefully took a glass of champagne from one of the waiters as he entered the hall where the 20th anniversary event was being held. The room was buzzing with people, many of whom Juan recognised and he felt the nostalgia seeping into his body, the happiness of the night in Munich warming his bones once more. Adorning the walls were huge pictures of the team throughout that night, the one right by the door was of the team just after JT and Lamps lifted the trophy. Juan couldn’t help but chuckle at Jose Bosingwa, who was front and centre in the picture – and most of the others from that night.

‘Matinha!’ Juan heard from somewhere in the distance. The Brazilian twang on the accent was instantly recognisable and a smile lit up Juan’s face.

From behind him a pair of arms wrapped around his shoulders, ‘David Luiz,’ Juan breathed happily. The pair had been close friends while at Chelsea, and even afterwards, but their careers took different paths. David had stayed at Chelsea much longer than Juan and then after retiring he invested much of his time (and his own money, if the newspapers were to be believed) in charities that looked at helping underprivileged children around the world through football and education.

Juan noticed David’s wife, Sara sitting at a table across the way with some other people. ‘Don’t tell me those are your kids.’ The teenagers sitting at the table looked so different from the toddlers he’d seen many years before.

His smile brimming with pride, David pointed at each of the children one after the other. ‘That’s Cátia, next to her is Gabriel, and then there’s Matilde and Rosa.’ They all looked so grown up, Juan could barely believe it and he told David as much.

‘Speaking of kids, where’s my Isabel?’ David asked, finishing his glass of champagne and placing it on the empty table they were standing next to, and a moment later he pulled out a chair and gesturing for Juan to join him.

‘She had a match back in Madrid, so she couldn’t make it. It should kick off,’ Juan looked down at his watch, ‘in an hour or so. She’s usually on the bench, which isn’t the best – but I’m still so incredibly proud of her.’

‘A match? Who does she play for?’

‘Atlético Madrid.’ Juan never stopped swelling with pride when he told people.

‘Uau, essa é a minha menina!’ [Wow, that’s my girl!] David exclaimed, clapping Juan on the shoulder in congratulations.

It wasn’t long until the programme began, Juan sat on a table with David, his family and Oriol and his wife. John Terry was the first one to step up to the microphone to make a short, but very sweet about what it meant to him to win the trophy. Then Frank Lampard spoke about the feeling of being able to call yourself a Champions League Winner and captaining the team during the match; but the last person to make a speech was Didier Drogba. Within moments, Didier had the room in the palm of his hand, each person hanging on his every word.

‘…And then I gave away that penalty in extra time. For a second I really thought I’d ruined it for us – I though I’d taken away this generation of player’s chance to win the Champions League. But then David came up to me and said it was our night, it was our trophy to win.’ David whooped from his seat, shouting his love for Didier, causing the room to break out into laughter. ‘And then Juan Mata said that we had so much time, even if they scored, we could still win it. After they spoke to me, I looked up at the goal and saw Petr standing there. I saw the determination in his eyes and I remember thinking “There’s absolutely no way we’re going to lose this. Not tonight, not with Big Pete in goal.”

‘When the ball hit the back of the net, I felt something I’d never experienced before. It was complete euphoria, we were Champions of Europe, and no one could ever take that away from us. It didn’t matter who had taken the penalties, it didn’t matter who had started the match, what mattered was that we were a team. Everyone. From the players, to the backroom staff, to the fans watching around the world. We won as a group and we were more than prepared to lose as a group. My time at Chelsea defined me, not only as a player, but also as a man. I learnt a lot about life, from the many, _many_  managers who worked with us, they all left something different. But Robbie, he brought us together, and it wasn’t about winning or losing, but about being a family. About being there for each other through the good and the bad. And that’s what I remember most about that night. The feeling of unity, is something that will be with everyone in this room forever.’ Didier finished his speech with a curt nod of the head to rapturous applause and a standing ovation. As he was sitting quite close to the front, Juan realised that the papers Didier was holding and reading his speech from were blank – he’d said the whole thing off the cuff, every word coming from the heart.

 

 

The match was frustrating, nothing Atléti were trying was coming off, and everyone seemed a little out of sync.

‘Mata, go warm up.’ The manager ordered, and Isabel put on a training bib and ran off to do her stretches. A few minutes later, the Valencia defender lofted a beautifully weighted ball right over the Atléti midfield and defence, bypassing them all completely, and it landed at the feet of the Valencia striker who brought the ball down with ease. Though the striker had to hold off pressure from the quickly advancing Atléti defenders, she managed to slot it in the bottom right corner, taking the visitors one goal up. Atlético were lucky to only be down by one goal, if Isabel was being honest – the Atléti striker, Valdes, had barely a sniff of the ball in the first hour.

The assistant manager motioned for Isabel to come back, and she was surprised. Only 55 minutes had gone in the match, Isabel wasn’t usually introduced until there were at least 80 minutes on the clock.

‘Right, I want you to play off Valdes, just behind her. Be more direct than you usually are, take the initiative, they’re marking her like hawks, help her out, but make some chances for yourself.’ The assistant manager carried on telling Isabel whom to mark on corners and set pieces; it wasn’t long before she was being subbed on for her friend, Bolívar, the defensive midfielder.

 

 

‘It was really nice to see you,’ Juan grinned, shaking Garry Grey’s hand, he was the kit man during the time Juan was at Chelsea and was very popular with the squad. His easy charm and genial nature made it impossible not to like him, and it seemed as though that hadn’t changed at all, Juan left the conversation with a wide smile on his face.

He had been alone for barely a second when Juan felt a hand on his back, as he turned around, his breath caught in his throat. Juan could already tell who it was.

‘Hola, Juan.’ Fernando said, there were more creases at the corner of his eyes, but his smile was exactly the same.

‘Fernando,’ Juan breathed, pulling the older man into a hug.

They started off speaking about menial things. ‘I’m still living here, I moved back after I retired with Atléti. I started doing my coaching badges with the FA, I’m working with Lamps a lot.’ Seemingly unable to stop himself, Fernando smiled again, Juan couldn’t help but note how incredibly happy Fernando looked, his demeanour was resolutely positive and it suited Fernando so well. ‘Lamps is the youth team coach at Chelsea, and when he heard that I was looking for a job he offered me a position as his assistant.’

‘That’s really, really great. I’d never have pictured you as a coach.’ Juan said truthfully, Fernando had never seemed the type to want to go into management.

Fernando laid a hand on Juan’s forearm, his touch light but anchoring. ‘I didn’t want to be a coach. But I retired, and I spent a year living by the beach in Portugal and I hated it. I was so bored, and I felt alone – I didn’t know anyone – the place was beautiful, but I needed something to dedicate my time to, something to dedicate myself to.’

‘I totally understand, I’ve been doing a bit of punditry from time to time, but I haven’t had much of a proper job since I retired.’ Juan felt a little embarrassed that he hadn’t been doing anything meaningful with his life since he retired from football while Fernando had been putting his years of experience into helping the next generation.

‘Punditry? I could always tell you’d put all that knowledge to use.’ Fernando tapped Juan’s head to emphasise his point.

 

 

Most of the match was passing in a blur, Valencia had more possession, but they were suddenly finding it difficult to do anything dangerous with the ball. Isabel was mostly in Atléti’s half, defending, and trying to attack on the break. Suddenly, the ball was passed to her from one of the Atléti defenders, and Isabel passed the ball to the striker, Valdes, who had already launched into her run towards Valencia’s goal. Isabel powered forward, running past Valdes into acres of space, hoping that the striker would roll the ball into her path. Although Valdes held on to the ball for a little longer than she’d hoped, which allowed the defender to get back into position, sticking close to Isabel, Valdes eventually curled the ball around the defender and just in front of Isabel. She took one touch, turned and blasted the ball towards goal. It was her first attempt on goal of the match. And it went in. The low, powerful shot was too fast for the goalkeeper to stop, and Isabel had equalised.

Their happiness was short lived because Valencia almost put themselves in front once more only minutes later, the shot from the edge of the box was nearly deflected into the goal by one of the Valencia strikers. Atléti needed to get their heads back in the game; they still had a lot of work to do.

 

 

‘How is Isabel?’ Fernando finally asked. He’d been dying to know how she was since he’d set eyes on Juan. He missed her more than he thought he would.

‘She’s brilliant, thanks. She’s not here tonight because-’

‘She’s playing against Valencia, back in Madrid.’ Fernando finished Juan’s sentence.

‘Yeah, how did you know?’ the surprise in Juan’s voice was evident.

Fernando looked bashfully down at his knees. ‘How could I not keep up to date with her playing career?’ He commented as if the mere thought of not following Isabel’s professional career was ludicrous.

Fully adopting the doting parent role, Juan got out his phone and showed Fernando a picture of the two of them a week before when they’d been watching El Derbi Madrileño. Isabel had taken a selfie of the two of them and put it on her Instagram. There was no missing the look in Fernando’s eyes, but Juan was having a hard time understanding exactly what it meant.

They stopped for a moment when there was a musical guest who played live and entertained the room. As they listened to the songs, a cross between indie rock and pop music, Juan let his eyes wander over Fernando’s face. The crinkles around his eyes had become deeper over time, although before Juan would have thought it impossible; the freckles that covered his cheeks looked slightly darker and more prominent. His eyes however, had not changed at all, a sparkle of curiosity resided in them, and had done ever since Juan had known Fernando – Juan was glad the older man hadn’t changed the much.

Just when Juan thought he’d got away with looking, Fernando leaned over, without taking his eyes off the band on stage, ‘Don’t think I can’t see you checking me out.’ For a second Juan held his breath – he’d been caught – but let it out with a laugh when he saw the wry smile on Fernando’s face.

 

 

Time was running out, the clock has just ticked into the 85th minute and the two teams were still tied at 1-1, Valencia showed no signs of letting up, it was end to end with each team taking it in turns to attack. The night was warm, and Isabel could feel the trickles of sweat rolling down her back, but she couldn’t stop, she couldn’t let herself feel tired, she knew the team could still get something more out of the game.

In midfield Atléti won the ball back, and it was passed right into Isabel’s feet. Taking a deep breath, she looked up and she saw each of her teammates being marked by a Valencia player. She couldn’t see a clear pass anywhere. Atléti’s striker ran to the left trying to open herself up to Isabel, but her opposite number followed her like a shadow. The space the striker left lit up like a pathway for Isabel, she ran through down the right flank and made it all the way to the edge of the box. She wound her way around two Valencia defenders and she was one on one with the keeper. Isabel thought about going for power and shooting straight ahead, but at the last second scooped the ball up and over, chipping the keeper. Isabel was in line with the penalty box as the ball sailed over the goalkeeper, bound for the Valencia goal. It moved slowly, and from the corner of her eye Isabel could see a Valencia player charging towards her, but each of the defender’s steps seemed to happen in slow motion, like she was running through treacle. She wasn’t fast enough. The ball slid over the line, bulging the back of the net.

Isabel didn’t even have time to comprehend what had occurred before her teammates descended on her, jumping on to her back and pulling her down to the ground. They whooped and hollered as one of them kissed Isabel’s cheek, shouting ‘Vamos!’ over and over. The clock said that it was the 89th minute.

They restarted the match, and Isabel knew that they’d won it.

 

 

The formal part of the evening was over, and most of the attendees were mingling, with board members, other players and some select fans. However, Juan and Fernando had been standing by the bar only talking to one another. It was just like old times, like the years hadn’t slipped past with no contact, and it was easy.

Juan’s phone beeped in his pocket, and he checked to see he’d received a text from Isabel. Looking at the time he noticed that the match must have only just finished.

 _< We won! Guess who scored the winner? _Accompanying the message was a picture of Isabel standing with her back towards the camera, and over her shoulders, she pointed her thumbs to the back of her shirt which read MATA 10.

‘She scored!’ Juan exclaimed, pulling Fernando into a hug before he thought about it. It was Isabel’s first goal for Atlético and he couldn’t contain himself, he was so proud of his little girl.

‘Isabel Mata inspires comeback,’ Fernando read from his phone where he was looking at the Atlético Madrid website. He stopped speaking for a second and let his eyes grazing over the rest of the words. ‘It says here that she came on in the second half when Atléti were 1-0 down and then she scored both of their goals.’

Quickly typing out a message, Juan told Isabel how proud he was of her, and he was upset that he missed it. Of course, the first match of her career that he misses is the first time she scores for her new club.

Isabel replied moments later. _Gracias Papá, tell Tío Nando I said hello :)_

Juan laughed, he hadn’t even mentioned seeing Fernando but Isabel knew him well enough, to realise that the first thing Juan would do was seek out Fernando. So, he leaned to his left to show Fernando the picture and message. To which Fernando turned his attention away from his own phone, and smiled brilliantly at Juan, the older man couldn’t believe that after all these years, Isabel still called him ‘Tío’.

‘I’ve watched her play a couple of times,’ Fernando commented, taking a sip from his drink. ‘She reminds me of you. She can pick a pass exactly like you could. It’s like she knows what the striker is going to do, even before they do. Which is exactly how I felt when we played together. I’m glad she’s finally getting her chance.’

Juan lent an elbow on the bar. ‘So am I. She deserves it.’

The evening was coming to a close, slowly people were filing out of the hall and when Fernando extended an offer to come back to his house, Juan accepted.

 

 

As soon as they got into Fernando’s house, he pressed a soft kiss to Juan’s lips. All night they’d steered clear of any talk of their respective romantic situations, but Fernando took matters into his own hands.

‘I’m sorr-‘ Fernando started to apologise just as Juan said, ‘I’ve been wanting you to do that all night.’

They collapsed into laughter, and Fernando took Juan’s hand, lightly tangling their fingers together, and led him into the lounge.

 ‘I can’t even tell you how much I’ve missed you.’ Said Fernando, no louder than a whisper. Juan reciprocated the feeling, since he left Chelsea he’d had no more than a handful of dates and a couple of one-night stands. He hadn’t been consciously been trying to stay single, it had just happened; with Isabel keeping him busy, Juan didn’t really have time to think about finding a partner.

‘I’ve missed you so much, and I only realised just how much until I saw you tonight. I can’t believe we went all those years without seeing each other.’

Fernando didn’t say anything in return, he just opened his arms and Juan settled into them.

The next morning, Juan’s eyes fluttered open, and despite the sun’s harsh morning rays he smiled over at Fernando who was still asleep on the sofa. He quickly checked his phone and noticed he had a few hours before he needed to leave for the airport. He placed his phone back on the coffee table and settled into letting his gaze wander over Fernando’s face.

‘I can feel you watching me.’ The older man said, without opening his eyes, but allowing a smirk to tug at his lips.

‘I didn’t want to wake you.’ Juan said truthfully. ‘You looked too cute.’

‘Cute? What are we, 14?’ There was a hint of sarcasm in Fernando’s voice but he pecked Juan’s lips regardless.

They sat in comfortable silence, both obviously avoiding the subject of Juan’s very imminent departure.

‘Do you want some breakfast?’ Fernando asked, rising from the sofa and stretching his arms in the air. A few cracks were audible, and Fernando chuckled, accrediting it to old age.

With a swift nod, Juan followed Fernando through the living area and downstairs to the kitchen. He lived in a town house, so there were four floors, with the living area on the ground floor, the kitchen downstairs, leading out to a surprisingly spacious and well-kept garden, whereas the bathroom and bedrooms Juan guessed were on the top two floors.

‘Could I use the bathroom?’ Juan asked, scratching absentmindedly at his beard.

With his head in the pantry, Fernando called out directions and it seemed that there was a half bathroom on the ground floor. As he made his way to the bathroom, Juan noticed a wall filled with pictures and couldn’t help but stop to have a look. The first one on the wall was of Fernando and his siblings on the beach when they were children – most of the pictures were of his family, but there were a few from his career in there too. A couple from the 2010 World Cup celebrations; one of Fernando, Juan and Oriol after they’d won the Champions League in Munich and another of Fernando after he scored his first hat trick for Liverpool. Juan almost missed it but on his way back from the bathroom, he saw there was another picture just around the corner on the wall, which was of Juan and Fernando during one of Chelsea’s laps of honour around the Stamford Bridge pitch at the end of the season. They had their arms slung lazily around each other’s shoulders as they stared into the camera. Juan remembered the moment as though it had happened mere days before, not two decades. The memory made nostalgia seep into Juan’s bones and a warm feeling settled in his stomach, and this time it wasn’t nostalgia for his career. 

The smell of breakfast wafted through the air, Juan made himself at home in Fernando’s kitchen and poured himself a glass of juice while the older man prepared the meal.

‘Do you remember when we did the victory parade after we won the Champions League?’

Fernando hummed in response. There wasn’t even anything else Juan wanted to say, but he’d never been able to forget the sea of faces, each one etched with pure joy after Chelsea had won the most sought after competition in European football. ‘I remember catching some of the footage on TV a couple of days after. I still can’t believe how badly I sang _We Are The Champions_!’ Juan stifled a laugh, it really had been terrible singing. But he remembers being right there next to Fernando remembering the words just as poorly.

‘Voila,’ Fernando grinned presenting Juan with a plate of freshly cooked torrijas, the Asturian nicked one from the plate as soon as it was set down. He licked his lips in delight even as Fernando scolded him.

With empty plates in front of them, they sat in silence, though their fingers were intertwined atop the table.

‘I have to g-‘

Juan stopped when Fernando got up and kissed Juan.

‘-go.’ Juan finished with a whisper.

 

 

Jusn walked out of Madrid-Barajas airport and with each step he wished he hadn’t left London. That he hadn’t had to leave Fernando.

‘Papá!’ Isabel shouted as she leaned against her car and seeing her dad walking towards her.

The car journey home was passed with Isabel animatedly recounting her match to Juan, interspersed with her huffing at other drivers.

‘How was your reunion?’ Isabel took the keys out of the ignition, and Juan suddenly realised they had reached their home.

‘It was…great.’ Juan said more solemnly than he intended.

Isabel held her hands up. ‘Whoa, calm down dad, don’t get too excited.’

Despite himself, Juan smiled brightly. ‘It was a really lovely night, it was so nice to see everyone again, it made me miss the old days. It made me miss them a lot.’

‘How was Tío Nando?’

‘It was a pleasure to see him, as always. He said hello and congratulations on the goals.’

Isabel pretended not to notice how her dad’s face dropped slightly as he mentioned his former teammate, it was obvious that there was something he wasn’t telling her. She didn’t want to push it though, so she let it go without saying a word.

Over the next few weeks, their lives got back to normal, Isabel was training with the ladies team, she got some more starts and began to feel that she was cementing her place within the team. After one training session at Ciudad Deportivo, Isabel was talking to Diego, one of her friends from the Atelti Men’s ‘B’ team, who told her that there were going to be some changes to the B Team’s coaching staff.

‘I haven’t heard anything concrete, but that’s the word on the street.’ He shrugged, taking off his jacket and stuffing it in his bag. The sun was beating down; the heat sticky and quite uncomfortable – there were no clouds in the sky to give them any respite. Training had been hard, Isabel glugged down some water from her bottle and finished it; she threw the bottle in the bin and tied up her hair, she could feel her hair sticking to her neck.

The pair came to a stop by their cars; they had parked next to one another unknowingly. For a second they stood in silence as they both put their things in the back seats of their cars.

‘So, you doing anything later?’ Diego asked, swinging his car key chain around on his finger. He was handsome, not movie star handsome, but he had the kind of face that would make you look twice if you passed him on the street. His jaw line was angular and his cheekbones prominent, but it was his smile that was the most impressive. It was so brilliant that when it was directed at you, you almost involuntarily had to smile back.

A flush crept up Isabel’s neck. ‘I haven’t got any plans, why?’

He cupped the back of his neck and looked at the ground. It was cute, he was clearly embarrassed, so Isabel decided to put him out of his misery.

‘Do you want to do something later? Like a date?’ She asked, taking the initiative. For months Isabel had been trying to figure out whether she was into Diego, and once she had realised out that she was, her next challenge was to find out if he liked her as well.

Diego’s face lit up and he nodded like an eager puppy, his curly hair bouncing. ‘Yeah, that sounds great. I’ll come and pick you up at about 7?’

‘I’ll be waiting.’ Isabel wigged her fingers and got into her car and drove home.

 

 

Juan looked down at his phone; his inbox stared back at him. He opened the second conversation in the list (the first was Isabel), Juan re-read the last text he sent.  _I miss you._

He put his phone down when the doorbell rang. Before Juan could even wonder who it was, Isabel was banging on the door. ‘Papá! I forgot my keys…again.’ She called through.

Isabel breezed past him with a greeting and a kiss to his cheek as she entered, going straight up to her room. When Juan went back to the kitchen, he heard his phone buzz.

_I miss you too._

Without giving himself time to deliberate, Juan replied. _I wish it wasn’t like this. We deserved a shot._

Again, the doorbell rang to pull Juan away from his phone. As soon as he opened the door he heard two little screeches. ‘Tío Juan!’

Gabriel and Javier burst through the door, each clinging to one of Juan’s legs. He’d completely forgotten that he had said that he would babysit while Emma went into work.

‘How are my hombrecillos?’ Juan asked, kneeling down and bringing them both into a hug.

Their answers came as a rush of words, both trying to talk louder than the other to tell Juan how they were. Above them, he heard Emma laugh. ‘Thank you so much for taking them, I’ll only be maybe,’ she glanced down at her watch, ‘3 or 4 hours and I’ll be back to pick them up.’

‘No worries, we’re going to have so much fun, aren’t we?’ The two boys nodded over and over. ‘We’re going to play in the pool and then we’re going to have dinner and watch a movie!’ Gabriel and Javier cheered.

Juan’s evening with the two boys was a reminder of how much he missed having a young child. Even though he and Isabel spent a lot of time together, it still would never be the same as when she was small enough to fit on his lap and curl up before falling asleep.

‘Papá,’ Isabel stuck her head round the door of the kitchen where Juan was making dinner for the boys. When they turned around and saw her, they jumped down from their seats and ran to hug her. ‘Javi, Gabi! I didn’t know you little troublemakers were here!’

‘We’re spending the evening with Tío Juan while Mamá and Papá go to work!’ Gabriel supplied helpfully.

She ruffled their hair, which was cut into exactly the same style after Gabriel got a faux hawk and then his Javier immediately decided he wanted his hair to be the same as his older brother. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t stay boys, I have to go out.’ They both pouted, at Isabel’s words.

Juan gave a questioning look.

‘Yeah,’ Isabel’s face lit up. ‘Diego’s coming to get me in a minute.’

‘Diego?’ Juan smiled, Isabel had confessed her crush a month or so earlier, but hadn’t said much else about him since then.

A faint blush crept its way up Isabel’s cheeks. ‘I asked him out earlier. I could tell he was going to, but he was taking too long.’

Juan chuckled as the boys showed their disgust. ‘Are you gonna kiss him?’ Gabriel asked.

‘I don’t think so, boys are gross!’ Isabel picked up Javier and threw him over her shoulder, keeping him in place with one arm.

‘We’re not gross!’ Gabriel squealed when Isabel tickled under his arms. She put Javier down and stood up stroking her chin. ‘Well, will you be my protector then, Gabi?’

‘Yes!’ the older boy saluted and grinned.

Javier tugged on Isabel’s jacket. ‘What about me? I can protect you, I’m not too little, I swear.’

‘You can be a team! Gabi and Javi, the best bodyguards in Madrid!’

The doorbell sounded and Isabel turned to answer it, but Gabriel put an arm across her stomach to stop her.

‘This is one for Agent Gabi and Agent Javi!’ The two ran ahead and answered the door.

Juan walked over and slung his arm around Isabel’s shoulder. ‘I was going to come and give Diego “the talk”, but I don’t think I need to now.’ As the got closer to the door, they heard Gabriel asking Diego various questions about himself, with Javier interjecting ‘Yeah!’ every so often.

‘Agent Gabi, Agent Javi, what’s the decision?’ Isabel crouched down to eye level with the boys.

They looked adorably thoughtful and Javier whispered into Gabriel’s ear. ‘He’s okay.’ The pair saluted, and moved out of the way of the door. Well, Gabriel moved, and then he pulled Javier with him.

Throughout this, Diego stood by the door, not understand what on earth was going on, but feeling amused nonetheless.

‘Thank you, that’s all I’ll need you for tonight, Agents. I think Agent Juan said your dinner is ready.’ Isabel kissed each of them on the head, and all three saluted at one another before she left.

 

 

With dinner and bath time completed, Juan sat with one boy on either side of him as they watched Toy Story 3 on the television.

It wasn’t even half way through the film, yet both boys had fallen asleep. Emma had texted saying that she would be a few minutes late because she’d read that there was a lot of traffic online. Juan got up to get a blanket to put over the brothers.

As he was draping it over them, Juan heard the doorbell ring. It was only 8:30, he wondered what Isabel was doing back so early.

‘Fernando?’ The word got caught in Juan’s throat; he had been taken completely off guard. ‘What-what are you doing here?’

The older man didn’t even answer; he stepped inside Juan’s house, closed the door behind him and then placed a hand on either of Juan’s cheeks and kissed him. When they parted, both out of breath, Fernando rested his forehead on Juan’s. ‘I moved back to Madrid.’

‘What?’ Juan was sure he’d heard wrong.

‘I’m the new assistant manager to the Atléti B Team.’ Fernando blinked slowly and smiled, letting Juan know that he was telling the truth.

Juan moved backwards and took it in. He breathed deeply as he tried to comprehend what was happening, but all he did was breathe in Fernando’s aftershave. After all these years he still wore the same one, the same musky scent that Juan loved.

Fernando stepped forward and a floorboard creaked audibly under his foot, Juan threw a quick glance in the direction of the living room, hoping the boys hadn’t woken up.

‘Does this mean...?’ Juan gestured grandly, pointing between himself and Fernando.

‘Yeah,’ Fernando said with laugh, although he didn’t quite believe it. ‘ _Finally._ ’

 

 

Not long after, Emma came to pick up the boys; she and Fernando had a quick catch up while Juan gathered the boys’ stuff. ‘About time.’ Emma whispered into Juan’s ear as she was hugging him goodbye, giving a pointed look towards Fernando who was carrying out a sleeping Javier to the car.

Juan blushed and bid Emma goodbye with a kiss on the cheek.

Once the kids and Emma were gone, Juan opened a bottle of wine, and handed a glass to Fernando without even asking. A glass of red wine on a warm evening was one of Fernando’s favourite things, and Juan had not forgotten. There had been countless evenings spent on Juan’s balcony overlooking London, sipping wine and just talking. They had to be some of Juan’s most treasured memories from living in England’s capital.

 ‘It was a dream when Atléti asked if I wanted to be the youth team assistant manager. I wasn’t sure whether I should take the job or not, but Frank told me to go for it.’ Fernando rested his empty glass on his thigh, fingertips on the rim keeping it from falling over. ‘It was perfect timing.’

‘I’m just glad you’re here now.’ Juan kissed Fernando, just because he could. His lips lingering on Fernando, a smile tugged at the younger man’s lips when he thought that he’d be able to do this whenever he wanted to.

Fernando brought his hand up and threaded his fingers into the curls at the base of Juan’s neck.

A content feeling settled in Fernando’s stomach, he was here with the man he loved – had loved for many years – and for the first time he didn’t have to think about enjoying it while he could. Fernando knew this relationship was for the long haul.

‘Where’s all your stuff?’ Juan sat back, suddenly wondering why Fernando had none of his belongings with him.

‘I dropped off my suitcases at my parents’ house, and the rest of my stuff is being shipped over next week.’

‘So, you’re moving in here, right?’ Juan gestured around to his house. ‘There’s so much space here, and I know you don’t have a place in Madrid any more.’

It wasn’t even something Fernando needed to give any real thought to. ‘I’d love to.’

Fernando pressed his lips against Juan’s, and threaded their fingers together. Over Juan’s shoulder, he saw Isabel standing there, her mouth hanging open – she’d obviously just seen them kiss. For a split second, he wondered how Isabel would take this information. He stood up quietly, and Juan turned around to see why, the Asturian stayed silent when he saw his daughter.

‘Tío Nando!’ Isabel squealed and ran into Fernando’s open arms. ‘Well, I guess I should drop the “Tío”, shouldn’t I?’ she gestured between Juan and Fernando.

‘Are-are you okay with this?’ Juan asked quietly.

Isabel gave her dad a look of confusion before bringing him into a hug. ‘Of course I’m fine with it. If you’re happy, than so am I.’ She turned to Fernando, a smirk on her face. ‘If you do anything to hurt my Papá, I’ll come after you, Señor Torres.’

The three dissolved into laughter, and Juan asked Isabel about her date. To which Fernando teased Isabel lightly and told him about the date and how Diego bought her flowers and insisted on paying for dinner (but Isabel paid for the movie afterwards).

‘Diego Ortiz?’ Fernando asked, seemingly trying to remember where he’d heard the name before.

‘He’s one of your players now,’ Isabel smiled, showing Fernando a picture on her phone.

Fernando excused himself to go to the bathroom, and Juan patted the now empty seat beside him, beckoning his daughter.

‘Are you sure you’re okay with this?’ Isabel nodded and playfully pushed her dad’s shoulder.

‘Dad, if I wasn’t fine with it, you would know. You can read me like a book. If I’m being honest, I’m no surprised about this.’

‘How did you know?’

‘Come on Papá, you kept up to date with pretty much every single match he played in until he retired, any time anyone mentions him you get this little smile on your face that I never ever see otherwise. It’s pretty obvious. You did a terrible job of hiding your crush if you ask me.’ Juan couldn’t help but laugh at his daughter’s astute nature, she picked up on so much more than he realised.

 

 

It took no time at all for Fernando to file seamlessly into Juan and Isabel’s well oiled routine. He took over the cooking duties from Juan, and the trio ate dinner together every night, unless Isabel was away for a match.

Isabel was now a permanent fixture in the Atlético women’s team, she was scoring goals like it was going out of fashion and was the team’s leader in assists and had the second highest amount of goals. Juan and Fernando went to every single home game and cheered Isabel on. They sat in the stands and brimmed with pride as she ran up and down the pitch, increasingly becoming the team’s most influential player.

The air around them was unseasonably cold, both men had on scarves, despite the fact that summer was approaching rapidly. They huddled close as they waited for the players to come out on to the pitch.

A shiver caused Fernando to wrap his arm around Juan’s shoulders. ‘Are you okay?’ Juan nodded and Fernando pressed a kiss to his hairline.  Even though the pair had not officially come out, they never hid their relationship, even when they’re out in public. Their friends and family were aware of their relationship, and everyone was okay with it, and that was all that mattered to Juan and Fernando.

With the season coming to a close, every game was important, so it felt even better when Isabel scored goals. She was on a three game streak going into the final game of the season, where if Atlético won, they would be champions of the women’s Primera División beating out their fierce rivals Atlético Bilbao to the title.

It was in the 50th minute when Atlético Madrid struck, Isabel slotted a ball through the legs of the defender, which their striker latched on to and blasted into the top right hand corner. The Bilbao defence were comparable to a sieve when Isabel swung in a corner and the defensive midfielder Bolívar wasn’t picked up and she headed the ball straight past the ‘keeper. After the Atlético striker scored two more goals to complete her hat trick, the Bilbao players looked down and out – they hadn’t managed to score once and they had conceded four.

Isabel received the ball on the edge of the box and the Bilbao defenders were out to her within seconds, but she faked left to make some space for herself, she curled the ball up and around the goalkeeper into the goal. It was the 93rd minute, almost as soon as the ball hit the back of the net; the referee blew the whistle for full time.

Jumping out of their seats and hugging one another, Juan and Fernando watched as Isabel and her teammates were awarded the trophy and celebrated on the pitch. The few thousand fans that had made it to the Vicente Calderón sang loudly as the ladies paraded the trophy around, spraying each other with champagne and dancing.

Both men felt an arm sling around their shoulders and they turned around to see Diego behind them, cheering just as loudly as they were for Isabel. ‘I can’t believe they won!’ The young boy grinned and hugged the men. The two of them had given Diego their seal of approval not long after he and Isabel began dating properly, you could often find Diego hanging out with Juan and Fernando even if Isabel wasn’t around. He looked up to both of them and would sit for hours listening to stories from their playing days, Isabel would come home and see Diego hanging on their every word.

 

About an hour or so later, Isabel left her teammates, and went home with Juan and Fernando. The team had planned a night out the following evening, so Isabel didn’t feel too bad about leaving early.

Juan drove, Fernando sat shotgun while Diego and Isabel sat in the back seat, Fernando had offered to cook a celebratory dinner for the four of them. Diego laid his hand palm up on the middle seat in the back of the car and after Isabel interlocked their fingers, he softly grazed his thumb over her knuckle and she unbuckled her seatbelt, moving over into the middle seat. After clipping her seatbelt, Isabel rested her head on Diego’s shoulder, and he let his head rest on top of hers, and within seconds, she fell asleep.

Dinner was Isabel’s favourite Asturian dish, a fish stew called caldereta. Even after their empty plates had been pushed to the middle of the table, the four didn’t get up to leave, but stayed to talk.

‘I think we need to commemorate this, Isabel’s first trophy of her professional career!’ Diego said, grabbing Isabel’s phone and getting up from the table. Isabel stood between Juan and Fernando, putting her arms around their shoulders and pulling them close.

‘Smile!’ Diego called, taking a few pictures.

Once Isabel picked the one she liked the most, she uploaded it with the caption _Mi familia._


End file.
